


Head in the Dust, Feet in the Fire

by orphan_account



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Flashbacks, M/M, Orson The White and Shining Knight, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, POV Third Person Omniscient, Past Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-10 13:12:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10438467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Subsequent to Lah'mu, instead of being reunited with Orson once again, Tarkin claims the scientist. When, three years later, Orson gets his scientist back, he notices something...different about Galen."As much as I would love to let you roam free, your...excursion has proved your inability to follow orders. Apologetically, I do not have the time to babysit a man such as yourself; I truly am quite busy. Allow me to introduce you to Dengar," Tarkin whispered as he leaned in close. "Please. Behave."-"You know, you can sit," Orson sighs after Galen eyes the chair, his legs swaying from obvious exhaustion. Galen lowers his eyes in silent gratitude and he sinks down into the chair. "Force, Galen, what did Tarkin do to you?"





	1. Splinters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fancyfrenchie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fancyfrenchie/gifts).



> Title taken from Soldier by Fleurie
> 
> Much thanks to Fancyfrenchie for supporting me through all my fics and helping me out with ideas whenever I'm in a bit of a clinch! Partly inspired by From the Fragments, work by Frenchie's anon account.
> 
> Also, this is a bit of a new style for me, so through the chapters, I apologize if they take on different formats and lengths between the present and past. Enjoy!

"Galen!" Orson cries out as soon as his door hisses open. The scientist stands there, black suit, white collar, no possessions. 

"Hello." Galen smiles weakly, his face barely changing, and Orson frowns. No wave? No enthusiastic greeting? No broad smile? Nevertheless, Orson isn't one to be so easily troubled. He walks over and pulls his old friend into a tight embrace. "May I come in?" 

Orson gives a strange grunt at that and gives him an odd look, but it immediately vanishes as Orson beckons him come in, letting one arm drape around Galen's neck and shoulders.

Galen takes a look around the room, his eyes brushing over each detail. Orson notices the way Galen's eyes linger over the blaster and knife sitting on his neatly folded uniform. He notices the way Galen's lips thin in subtle fear when his eyes trail over the bed. 

"You okay?" Orson asks, a smile ghosting on his lips. "You seem a little...tense." 

"Tense," Galen repeats, a parody of a laugh escaping his lips. 

... 

_"Galen, I'm so glad we found you," Tarkin drawled, his voice steady and face blank._

_"What is this? Where's Orson," I asked. I was terrified and yet strangely calm even with the Grand Moff standing in front of me._

_"Director Krennic has much needed work he needs to complete. You will work here, on the Executrix."_

_"Why?"_ _The sneer on Tarkin's lips should have revealed it all, but I was too lost. I was afraid, and yet, I wasn't afraid for myself. Jyn...and Lyra...please, if you can hear me..._

_The door hissed open and a man walked in, a turban of some sort covering much of his head and face. His brown armor and red shoulder plates told me who this man is, but I refused to be scared of him._

_"As much as I would love to let you roam free, your...excursion has proved your inability to follow orders. Apologetically, I do not have the time to babysit a man such as yourself; I truly am quite busy. Allow me to introduce you to Dengar," Tarkin whispered as he leaned in close. "Please. Behave."_

_Tarkin stalked out of his quarters, and I was alone with Dengar. My subtle fear for Tarkin washed away anything I felt for Dengar, and yet, now, everything threatened to overwhelm me. I was suddenly so scared._

_Or, to better describe it, tense._

... 

"I promise you, sir, I'm okay. No need to worry," Galen returns after a long bout of silence. Orson frowns again and sends Galen a confused look. When he backs away, his cape swings aimlessly in the air and Galen notes how much he longed to see that cape when he was with Dengar.

"Sir?" Orson asks, a touch of uncertainty in his voice. "Galen, what is this? What happened to you?" 

"Nothing," Galen replies, careful to keep the 'sir' out of his speech. He kicks himself internally, wondering what retribution was to follow. How could he forget to ask what Orson's preferred title was? Galen smothers a sigh when he realizes that his familiarity with Orson is getting in the way of protocol. A moment of terror washes over him and he wonders what Orson will do to him. 

Instead, Orson just pulls Galen into a tighter hug and Galen feels warmth positively radiating off of Orson. He feels a primal sense of protection in the way Orson embraces him, and for a moment, Galen is more terrified than before. 

He's felt this ardent dominance before. With Dengar. 

"Come," Orson murmurs and guides Galen over to a chair. He pulls the bland furniture out while the metal beneath groaned with protest. Galen doesn't sit. Orson frowns for the third time in the short moments following Galen's return. 

Something is definitely wrong. 

...

_Dengar had a scar on his face._

_"What happened to your face," I asked. I sounded overly glum and it came out wrong. When Dengar's gaze shifted from some expensive decoration in Tarkin's quarters to me, I shook with sudden fear. Dengar's hand slithered towards the DLT-19's trigger. It looked battered, as battered as his uniform, and I wondered how many times he's pulled the trigger on that heavy blaster rifle. Definitely thousands of times, if not more._

_"Quiet. I may be out of business for right now, but I still have all the skills I need," Dengar hissed. His hand left the trigger after a moment's hesitation, and he reared forward to backhand me._

_I tasted blood after his blow, and the unexpected strike pushed me backwards. As the edge of Tarkin's bed dug into my calves, I fell onto the uncomfortable mattress, tears in my eyes._

_Something was definitely wrong._

...

"You know, you can sit," Orson sighs after Galen eyes the chair, his legs swaying from obvious exhaustion. Galen lowers his eyes in silent gratitude and he sinks down into the chair. "Force, Galen, what did Tarkin do to you?"

Galen stiffens, "Tarkin didn't do anything to me." That was the truth. Tarkin never directly do anything to him; it was all Dengar. 

Still, after the answer, fear riles Galen's mood. The question put him in a difficult position. He couldn't lie to Orson, and yet, he couldn't say anything bad about his superiors. Galen wanted to frown, his face mirroring Orson's, but he didn't dare. Instead, he sat, impassive as always. 

Orson snarls, all of a sudden, and Galen wilts under the Director's fury. Orson was never quite able to keep his temper in check. 

"Tell me what that son of a bitch did to you," Orson hisses. "Don't sit here and tell me you're alright when you're here 'sir'ing me and asking for permission." When Galen doesn't answer, his eyes wide with fear, Orson continues, although his voice softens to a beg. "Please, Galen. You're scaring me. Please, tell me. I'm sorry, I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for Lyra, for Jyn, but please tell me." 

...

_When the needle punctured my neck, I felt it's probe on my mind and it was almost immediate._

_"Why would you ever leave the Empire?" Dengar asked, his voice silky smooth. I didn't want to answer...I didn't...I didn't..._

_"Lyra," I gasped, the drug making me compliant despite all my wishes for it to leave me be. Dengar laughed, and the sound hurt my ears. It was a cross between a growl and a purr. It was surprisingly raspy despite the smoothness of his previous question._

_"Lyra, huh," Dengar drawled. No, no, he wasn't allowed to say her name. I wanted to get up and slap him. I wanted to fight him and make him bleed for using her name with the condescending hiss. But the drug kept me compliant and Dengar's intimidating frame managed to keep the small part of me that was in control in check. "Who's this whore?"_ _That was it._

 _"Bastard," I growled. The drug might have been trying to force me into compliance, but I was strong too. My mind was strong._ _Dengar laughed again, but he sounded...triumphant, this time. I was confused._

_"Galen, I promise you I'll never drug you again," Dengar puffed through bouts of mirth. "I'll have fun beating the resistance out of you."_

...

"I'm not angry," Galen promises. Unlike last time, that was the whole truth. He had no anger for Orson. Even when it happened, his anger had dulled to a faint ache. The only person he thought should have made a different decision was Lyra. The position she put him in was surprisingly self-destructive. Did she not know Orson had no other choice? 

The sigh of relief Orson gives is music to Galen's ears. He feels that bit better, but he still withers under Orson's bright blue gaze. 

The Director stands up to palm at his datapad. "I'm sorry, Galen," Orson whispers as Galen watches the colors from the datapad flash across Orson's face, painting it different shades. "I have a meeting to go to. There's a few nutrition bars on my desk." Orson gives Galen another protective hug before leaving the room, his cape like his personal posse that follows behind him in it's own dramatic furor. 

Galen is alone Orson Krennic's quarters, and it feels wrong. There isn't a guard here, and Galen feels as if, perhaps, it's some elaborate trick to try and get him to misbehave.

But Galen knows better than that. He trudges towards Orson's bed, and curls up on the ground next to the hard mattress, his stomach grumbling insistently. Galen wants to eat, and he feels a thin wave of anger for Orson. Since he doesn't have express permission to eat the nutrition bars, the thought of them being there and yet beyond his reach is like a tantalizing torture. 

Galen can't quite sleep, even though his eyes demand to close. Again, he doesn't have express permission to sleep, and he doesn't want to anger Orson. Orson might have acted worried about him, but Tarkin's games were always plenty and far-reaching...

Tarkin's games corrupted him. 

Galen was a genius, sure, but his mind ran wild with equations, theories, and schematics. The plans Tarkin had him were so...intuitive and deceiving, Galen couldn't even comprehend how one man could hide so much sadistic pleasure and ideas in his mind. 

Hours pass, and the grumble of Galen's stomach grows exponentially louder and the need to eat begins to erode at the scientist's carefully constructed armor of impassive politeness. His mind begs and pleads for sleep, but he has to wait...he has to have permission...

Where was Orson?

More time passed, but at this point, Galen couldn't keep track of the way the minutes faded in and out of each other, his existence blending into his sheen of fatigue and starvation. Finally, the door hissed open and there was a gasp of shock. 

"Galen?" Orson gasps his voice thick and uncertain. The door hissed closed behind him and he nearly tripped in a hurry to run towards the scientist. Galen didn't realize it, but he started shivering and a thin mewl escapes his lips as he realizes as much. 

"I'm sorry," he begs.

...

_"You won't use her name," I spat, despite the clear threat Dengar used. The bounty hunter sneered._

_"And how are you gonna stop me?" Dengar asked as if the idea was ridiculous. It_ was  _ridiculous. There was no way I was going to beat Dengar in any sort of a fight, so that meant my best chances were to stay silent._

_But I couldn't do that. Not while Lyra's name was befouled in such a crude manner. I threw a punch out of sheer anger, and Dengar caught it. I wasn't a soldier; never was. Simply a scientist with an extremely powerful mind. But in this situation...my mind was useless. Dengar was stronger than me and Tarkin was smarter than me._

_Now, as I looked at Dengar's face, true fear spread through me for the first time. His face is twisted into eight kinds of Hell and he came at me._

_After all, he was a bounty hunter, and as his first blow landed, solid on my stomach, I screamed loud. I fell back on the bed again, and it wasn't long before Dengar held me between his long fingers, shoving my face into the pillow, hard enough to be uncomfortable but not so hard I couldn't breath. The most terrifying part, was, I could feel his hardness pushing insistently at me._

_"No," I begged, true submission beginning to crawl at me but Dengar didn't take any notice. I started crying at some point, a broken sob that chocked through my lungs, and Dengar still never stopped._

_I was embarrassed, angry, breaking, and sticky with his come, and I didn't want this, any of this. If only Krennic didn't find me..._

_"What are you?" Dengar snarled. The answer was clear; slave, whore, slut...but it didn't matter. I wasn't going to give him what he wanted. It was funny how fast one could break and how fast they could pull themselves back together. Perhaps he didn't break me enough._

_"I'm_ sorry, _" I snarled back._

...

"Sorry for what?" Orson asks, his voice incredulous. "Look at yourself! I told you where the food was! And you're always welcome on my bed, didn't I already tell you that before you...left?" 

Times were different then, for Galen.

"I didn't have..." Galen grits his teeth. Perhaps Orson wasn't in the ploy after all, and suddenly, asking for it brings a flush of red to Galen's cheeks. Nonetheless, he has to say it. It is his duty. "I didn't have your permission."

Orson rears backwards as if he was shot. He is suddenly very pale and very white, his face powdery and chalk. He stayed that way until a streak of red blooms on his cheek and Galen can sense anger from the other man, but not for him. Orson goes into the 'fresher, taking his datapad with him. Within minutes, Galen can hear him calling someone. The door blocks most the conversation, but he can hear "son of a bitch", "bastard", "why the fuck", and a few other profane insults filtering through the door. 

Galen feels hollow and he wants to sink into the ground. There  _has_ to be retribution now. He has caused Tarkin an inconvenience...

And yet, he feels oddly reassured by the way Orson acted out in worry for him. There has to be a reason, has to be at least an ounce of affection left in the Director, and Galen clings to that as if it was the last rope that he hung on, keeping him from falling into the abyss below. 

Orson comes out, several minutes later, his uniform wrinkled and his face aged several years from stress and anger. 

"You have to tell me," Orson begs, "Wilhuff won't, so you have to. And I'll do what it takes to get an answer from you."

For a moment, Galen cringes as he thinks about what kind of "what it takes" Orson had in mind, but in a sudden flurry, he feels Orson's lips against his own and Galen melts into a puddle then and there. 

"Director," Galen gasps, lust and love threatening to breach his thickly built walls. 


	2. Shatters

Galen rears backwards.

This is different; this is so many levels of rule-breaking. Galen shivers despite the room not being cold. Orson looks at him, hurt brimming in his eyes, and Galen kicks himself again. 

"I'm sorry," Galen murmurs. He's too old for this. He can't handle this change in environment, and, although it hurt to admit it, he wanted to go back. He wanted to go back under Tarkin's thumb and Dengar's fist. Orson's bright blue eyes scan his own deep brown ones, and they recognize the haze of confusion. The haze of carefully retracted pain. 

"Galen," Orson begins, keeping his voice soft and benevolent. "Please talk to me."

But the scientist doesn't move. He doesn't speak; he doesn't even twitch. He stands there like a marble statue, the stories locked away in his eyes and stuck without release.

...

_There wasn't a single drop of blood on my uniform._

_Dengar made me put it back on, so I did, sore and angry. There was a large mirror on the other end of Tarkin's room, and when I gazed into it, I realized there was not a trace of evidence to prove what just happened, happened._

_Tarkin walked into the room several minutes later, the time 2100 exactly. The Grand Moff turned to Dengar who started speaking in that slovenly accent and in-eloquent vocabulary._

_"He behaved," Dengar purred, rolling the words off his tongue as if it was candy. Tarkin turned to look at me, and all of a sudden, I felt as if he didn't know of what happened. His eyes bore into mine, and I felt like a scolded child, so I hung my head and nodded softly._

_"Excellent," Tarkin drawled. I shivered under the dual forces of Tarkin's Imperial accent and Dengar's parody of a Corellian accent. The opposing forces of Tarkin's precision and Dengar's brute force._

_Dengar left the quarters without another word, and the only hint of what happened, was the uncomfortable feeling of his come rolling down my leg and my heart breaking a little bit._

...

Orson isn't angry, despite Galen's worst fears. He's simply hurt; hurt and confused. Just as Galen is. 

"Please, may I sleep?" Galen begs, hoping he wouldn't be reprimanded for attempting to escape a question. Exhaustion, temporarily forgotten, rushes back at the scientist in a wave of insistence, and Galen hopes he's allowed to sleep. 

Orson sighs and nods, his face an ineffective mask for the emotions storming through him. Orson thinks about the Republic Futures Program, and again, he curses Tarkin for taking the man he feel so deeply in love with so many years ago away from him. He watches, dumbfounded, as Galen settles down and curls into a small ball beside the bed, never climbing in. He reminds Orson of a dog curling at his Master's feet. 

"Galen..." Orson murmurs, and the scientist leaps up to his feet, his attention sloppy and tired. "I won't be sleeping tonight. Please, take the bed." 

Galen looks at Orson in confusion, but he doesn't protest as he climbs into Orson's bed. He acts as if he forgets how to sleep in a bed, his arms fumbling with the blankets as if they were an enigma. Orson moves to sit at his desk, and he watches as Galen's alertness is degraded and he falls into a deep sleep. Orson himself closes his eyes shortly after, his own exhaustion clouding him. 

But before he falls into the trap of sleep, Orson feels tears well in his eyes. 

_What happened to my sweet, strong Galen?_

...

_"Where do I sleep?" I asked, my tone surprisingly meek. Tarkin raised a thin eyebrow and turns his head ever so slightly to look at me._

_"On the floor, next to my bed."_ _Shock runs through me. Surely he wouldn't make me do anything that degrading? But as he continued gazing at me, I realized impatience was blooming in those eyes. I walked towards the bed, but Tarkin stopped me with a grunt. I turned to look at him again._

_"What?" He looked exasperated and annoyed._

_"Two things, my dear Galen. You will address me as Governor. Is that understood?"_

_"Yes...Governor," I whispered, annoyed myself._

_"Secondly, if you wish to sleep, you will ask permission," Tarkin finished. Rage burst through me._

_"Excuse me?" I exploded, angry as ever. Tarkin sneered at me and I felt small once again._

_"Dengar is on this ship. Do I need to call him in?" So the Grand Moff_ did  _know about what Dengar did to him. I weighed my options, but in the end, my logic ruled my emotions. As it should have done hours before._

_"May I sleep, Governer," I hissed, embarrassed now. He looked back at his paperwork and gave a curt nod, as if I didn't matter. I sank down on the hard floor and felt sleep wash over me, but before that happened, I felt indignant and vengeful, curling next to Tarkin's bed like his dog._

...

Orson doesn't wake Galen when his alarm emits a lonely beep at 0500. 

The Director gets up and changes out of his night clothes, quickly clipping his eloquently ridiculous cape back on his back. At this point, Orson feels as if something's missing if he doesn't have his cape on. 

Orson doesn't wake Galen when his alarm emits a lonely beep at 0600. 

The Director looks up from his datapad to see Galen still curling and uncurling on his bed, his face a mess. Orson lets out a sympathetic whimper, but he doesn't bother the scientist. He puts a spare cape over the alarm clock, smothering any more alarms to come. The alarm is light; Orson is a light sleeper. 

Orson doesn't wake Galen when he hears Galen scream from the bed, wracked with nightmares. 

Perhaps, perhaps then would have been the time to wake the scientist. Orson feels a stab of guilt, but he wants to...has to know what Tarkin and Dengar did to his beautiful, strong Galen. He didn't dare move a muscle and let his bright blue eyes trail slowly, almost as an admission of guilt, towards the shaking scientist. 

"No..." Galen murmurs. His eyes, though closed, were aiming their silent gaze on Orson. 

Orson begs Galen continue, the prayer loud in his head, pushing all his other thoughts away. Even the damned Death Star could wait; Galen... _his_ Galen would have to come back to him first. 

"Tarkin please help," Galen continues. His voice is hoarse and tears were in his eyes, making them seem hazel in the dim lighting of the early morning. Orson bid him continue, hoping Galen wouldn't wake up. He felt selfish in the moment, but he reminded himself that this was for Galen. 

"No! No, Tarkin, you have to help me!" 

So something was happening to  _his_ Galen and Tarkin was doing nil to help? Orson blinks in blind rage, but he struggles not to make any sounds and watches closely as Galen curles in a smaller ball, his feet kicking away the blankets and his arms flailing but stopping at weird angles. It's almost as if there was someone else in the dream, some other terrible foe. 

Orson realizes the nightmare is an exact copy of something that happened in the past. Galen isn't looking at him through closed eyes, Galen was looking at  _Tarkin_ , pleading for assistance. And all of a sudden, what happens next made sense. 

Galen pushes his head into the pillow, but Orson assumes it was someone else pushing his head into the pillow. The scientist thrashes and flails, but, no matter how fit he is, he isn't a soldier. Galen reacts to whoever was there, and suddenly, when he was on all fours, Orson puts an end to it. 

"Galen!" Orson shouts, making the scientist jerk awake. Perhaps it was a side effect to having such a powerful mind; vivid imagery ensues. But Orson doesn't care. He's beyond angry and a red haze covers his vision. 

No one,  _no one_ , is allowed  _his_ Galen Erso. 

...

_Tarkin slamed a fist onto the table at 0630, and I jerked awake, the sound crunching through my bones._

_"Slept enough?" Tarkin asked dryly as if annoyed. The indignant anger I felt last night came rushing back to me, but it immediately dulls into a low fear when I see Dengar sitting by Tarkin, a grin on his face._

_"No..." I murmured when I saw Dengar rushing towards me. He forced me back on the bed when I tried to get up. I looked over at Tarkin who doesn't even acknowledge my presence. He just looks blandly at his datapad, his eyes glittering and yet deep._

_"Tarkin please help," I continued, trying to get his attention. Dengar was fighting with me now, trying to keep me pushed down on the bed. Tarkin didn't react, his visage stony as he drags a long finger across the screen._

_"No! No, Tarkin, you have to help me!"_

_"No he doesn't," Dengar hissed in my ear. The sound sent shock waves of terror rolling through me. I knew what bounty hunters were capable of, but a slovenly, brutish one such as Dengar inspired a special kind of fear in me._

_I fell silent after that, but I didn't stop fighting Dengar. But, in the end, he won, his bounty hunter skills much stronger than my scientist ones. Now, on my hands and knees, on Tarkin's bed, I felt weak and humiliated. Tarkin didn't even bother to give me a glance, and yet, that in itself was like a terrible silence. He wasn't going to help me, not even after..._

_I thought about Lyra and I thought about Jyn and I thought about the work I would soon be made to do. Anything but what Dengar was doing right now._

_Dengar grunted in my ear, and they burned hotter than they did a moment ago. He's strong, so strong, and his pace is ruthless. All of a sudden, the humiliation combined with Dengar's speed, I wanted to..._

_"Use your brain," Dengar hissed, and I heard his voice loud in my ear. "Tarkin made you ask to fucking sleep. Ask if you want to come you stupid bitch."_

_"Fuck you," I hissed back. I wouldn't usually let such language befoul my vocabulary, but now, with Dengar_ in  _me and Tarkin sitting over at the desk like an uncaring shadow who allowed all of this to happen, I let go of my control._

_"No the idea is to fuck_ you _," Dengar returned. I hated him. I hated him and I wanted him dead in that moment, wishing I could use the Death Star I would be forced to create to vaporize him into a million pieces._

_But, the need to finish overwhelmed my resistance. Finally, with a soft keen, I gave Dengar what he wanted._

_"Please. May I come?"_

_Dengar sneers in my ear. "No."_

_The whimper I gave could only be described as pathetic when Dengar allowed himself_ his  _release._

...

Galen feels the memory crash through him, and that, coupled with the vividness of the dream makes him cry. 

Orson's impeccably angry expression softens and he steps out from the desk and rushes to Galen's side. He nearly trips over his cape, but he sits down next to the scientist and wraps two protective arms around Galen. 

"No one will hurt you, ever again," Orson vows, his voice promising and deep. Galen wishes it were true.  

But he doesn't say anything. Instead, he relishes in Orson's warm embrace. Galen's almost confused; Orson showed him more affection in a few hours than everyone had during three years of being on the Executrix.

But "everyone" was Dengar and Tarkin.

That was part of what broke him. He had seen nine walls during his time on the Executrix; the four around Tarkin's quarters, the four around Tarkin's 'fresher, and the singular wall of the hallway outside Tarkin's quarters he could steal a glimpse at when Dengar or Tarkin left or entered the quarters. It was maddening, seeing as he was with only two people for three years, and both of them tortured him.

Tarkin with his silence and cold indifference. Dengar, all fists and cock.

But Galen's mind drags away from all of that as Orson pushes him down and drags him into another crushing kiss. 

"Orson..." Galen mumbles, then he froze. 

"It's okay, Galen, first name is okay," Orson quickly amends before continuing with his kiss. Galen feels he's drowning, but he also feels oddly better with Orson there, fierceness and all. Orson's like a mother bear, his emotions shredded when his cub came back to him, battered and broken, bleeding and baseless. 

Galen could feel Orson's tears on his cheeks, and he could feel the salty droplets tangling in the stubble that he called his beard. 

"Orson," Galen repeats, his the name like sugar on his tongue. It comes out like a plead, but Galen doesn't know what he's pleading for. So, when Orson pulls away, his eyes drinking in Galen's flat figure under him, Galen simply pulls upwards, a sudden rush of strength and want ripping through him as he leans in for another kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's actually surprisingly hard to write in two different tenses and POVs...you make everything past tense when it's in the present and you make everything present when it's supposed to be in the past. 
> 
> Either way, hope you enjoyed, and once again, huge thank you to Fancyfrenchie who's helped me through this fic and other fics! And another thank you to Google Music, who's kept me in the right mood.


	3. Cavities

Orson tastes like whiskey, and Galen can feel it burning down his throat. 

The Director tries to make him feel better, but one night of affection can't erase three years of psychological and physical abuse. 

When Orson pulls away and stares into the depths of Galen's eyes, he can't see a single ounce of light in them. Galen's eyes droop as if sad but the pupils shrink as if afraid. Orson sighs and gets up off the bed. 

A beep sounds from Orson's desk, and he gets up to read the message. He can feel Galen's gaze tracking his every movement, anticipating an attack, and for the first time, Orson feels as if he's drowning. He doesn't want to meet the officer who requested his presence, but anything's better than standing here under Galen's suspicious gaze. 

Orson feels guilty and selfish, but he needs a few moments away. He might as well get this meeting out of the way. So the Director grabs a bottle of whiskey, takes a long swig of the fiery liquid, and he heads for the door. 

"Food is where I said it'll be, and Force forbid, don't ask me for any sort of permission. Just do it if you want to do it," Orson mutters before leaving the room in a hurry. 

Galen doesn't want to admit it, but he's glad Orson's gone as well. He shakes, his emotions inside out, and some alone time would do him some good. 

...

_I wanted Dengar dead._

_Now, I knew he wasn't even doing what he was to me because I "wasn't behaving". It was just his own sadistic pleasure._

_I never knew how much Murga Position hurt until Dengar made me do it. At least Tarkin was gone._

_Dengar_ _leaned in close, his voice low and it sounds like a grumble and a grunt. "If you can stay in that position for an hour, maybe I won't hurt you. If you can't...we we'll just see, won't we?"_

_I hated him._

_I hated him with my whole heart._ _I wasn't a soldier or physically special, but with my mind and determination, I knew I could get through this. I would humor this sick son of a bitch._

_It was thirty minutes in when I realized Dengar was reading a book, his eyes tracing over the words, befouling the pages. He didn't deserve that book. He couldn't understand it, anyways. I stretched my head forwards and my eyes scanned the spine of the book._

_I bit my tongue to keep from growling. He was reading_ Stardust and a Captain.  _That book, first off, was extremely complicated, too much so for Dengar. Secondly, Jyn...Jyn's name was on the spine. He turned to sneer at me and I realized Tarkin must have told him about Stardust._

_But it didn't matter. I angled my gaze a little further to look at the clock, and I realized I was nearly done. Five more minutes, and..._

_Dengar moved so fast, my vision couldn't even comprehend what happened. I felt the actual kick seconds after it was delivered, and as I crashed onto the ground, every single muscle in my body hissing and begging for comfort, I wanted to kill him then and there. Violent thoughts raced through my head as Dengar laughed, his sick humor tearing at me._

_"Oops," he amended, a leer fresh on his face._

...

Orson turns the corner and into Conference Room EJ-235. 

The room is empty save for Grand Moff Tarkin. 

"Why," Orson explodes as soon as the door hisses shut behind him. He stalks to the Grand Moff, his bright blue eyes brimming with the fire of his rage. Tarkin looks on, his visage stony. Orson hisses, his teeth slamming shut just millimeters from his tongue. 

"If my memory serves me right,  _Director,_ you were the one wishing that Galen would be more passive when he returned," Tarkin drawled. 

"Yes, but," Orson spluttered, his cape swaying as he shifted his weight between his two feet. 

"But nothing, Orson," Tarkin murmured, dropping all formality. "Be careful what you wish for." 

Orson's face which had turned a bright red, returned to it's normal paleness, just a few shades whiter. His features softened, but he didn't say anything. He suddenly looked very vulnerable, and Tarkin reached out to grip his forearm. 

"You made a deal with the Devil," Tarkin whispered. 

"What deal?"

"Without Galen, you were like a fish out of water, don't you remember? You clawed for affection and I gave it to you. In return, I ask you do not shower me with your in-eloquent insults and time wasting tantrums."

Orson looked trapped and miserable, but he fell into Tarkin's arms, sobbing like a child. 

"Why did you do this to him?" Orson asked again, but now, with tears clouding him, it didn't come out angry like before. Instead, it sounded like a beg; a plea for an answer. Tarkin wasn't one to disappoint. Orson only looked more miserable as Tarkin whispered his explanation in Orson's ears. 

...

_When Dengar finished with me, I was covered in tears, blood, and come._

_"Fuck you," I mumbled through a split lip. I didn't deserve this. I didn't deserve any of this, and yet, here I was. On the Executrix for only three days and already raped as many times. Dengar focused a glare at me, but I didn't notice, rage splitting my vision._

_If only I could fight him off..._

_My mind ignored the risks, and I leapt at him, anger never quite leaving me. It was probably a bad decision._

_My bare feet scuttled along the metal, and I nearly slipped in an effort to get to him and from the blood still running down my bare thighs. Dengar yanked himself to the right, and I crashed straight into Tarkin's bookshelf. The wood cracked and the books came tumbling down at my feet. It was almost ironic; the bounty hunter read the books and the scientist broke them._

_But Dengar's face was a work of terror, and he rushed at me. This time, I was too exhausted to struggle, a new bruise forming on my shoulder from the way I collided with the bookshelf. He headed for a chair and dragged me along with him._

_"Eyes closed, mouth open," Dengar hissed. My heart sank; I've done this before with Orson, but I never quite got used to the taste. But instead of tasting Dengar's length, I yelped as a cool metal cylinder entered my mouth. "Eyes open if you want."_

_My eyes snapped open, and I nearly had a heart attack when I realized I was blowing the barrel of Dengar's heavy blaster rifle._

_"Behave. Or I'll shoot."_

_The door hissed open at that, and the blaster rifle gets yanked out of my mouth. Tarkin smiles at Dengar and bids him leave with a dark chuckle._

_Tarkin looked at his ruined bookshelf and he turns back to me with a shake of the head. He comes towards me and I cower away, but, instead of feeling any sort of retribution, I feel Tarkin's arm around my shoulders._

_Immediately, I began crying and sank into his comforting grip. I was aware of the game he was playing, trying to confuse and induce Stockholm Syndrome. But I didn't care. I hated myself for it, but I felt better as Tarkin murmured incoherently in my ear and rubbed my back._

...

When Orson comes back in the quarters, Galen's eating a nutrition bar.

Or more like, he was staring at it with wide eyes and a closed mouth. Orson sighs. 

"You can eat it." 

Galen looks back at Orson with hollow eyes.

"It's not about the permission," he whispers, his voice resonating with pain. "It's...it's about the fact that..." He wants to go back. He wants to return to Tarkin's loving hug, even if it meant Dengar's hateful fists. Galen knows the games Tarkin plays with him, but he almost doesn't mind. He hates Tarkin and he hates himself for it, but he can't deny that's what he wants.

"About what, Galen?"

"I miss Jyn," Galen said, closing his eyes. Again, a lie carefully wrapped in the truth. Orson's gaze softens and he draws Galen into a tight embrace. Galen leans back into Orson's taught chest, and marvels at how the broadness of Orson terrifies him more than the slimness of Tarkin. 

...

_When Dengar returned the next day, he was surprised by my willingness and the comforted look on my face. When he hit me, I didn't growl; didn't react. Instead, I just closed my eyes and let myself return to the feel of Tarkin's touch._

_So, with my eyes closed, I realized Dengar was breaking me physically and Tarkin was breaking me mentally._

_I hated myself even more then I hated Dengar. More than I hated Tarkin._

_All because of one stupid hug._

_But I let Dengar finish with me. I just went far away inside, and I barely registered what he was doing to me. I_ didn't  _let myself register what he was doing to me._

_And yet, I felt every rut of his stupid cock. I just squeezed my eyes tighter, reminding myself of Tarkin's embrace. But, thinking about that made me hate myself beyond reason, so I tried to remember Lyra's embrace when she traced a light finger across the stubble of my beard. I tried to remember Jyn, her eyes wide and trusting, loving me more then I deserved it. Force, I even tried to remember Orson, pretending the one taking me was Orson instead of Dengar._

_And it all evaporated into Tarkin, whether it be his cold smile or his warm hug._

_Suffice it to say, Dengar didn't understand why I was crying, and the hiss of triumph in his grunts was so misplaced, I almost laughed._

...

Galen breaks away from Orson's hug, unshed tears in his eyes.

He slowly unwraps the nutrition bar and gingerly takes a bite of the bland material. It tastes awful, but it's the only thing Orson eats now, not letting himself indulge in the want of other foods. So Galen eats it, grateful, and sits back in Orson's embrace.

The room suddenly get's very cold, so Orson unclips his cape and gives the white fabric to Galen, who wraps it around himself. 

He falls asleep, nuzzled against Orson's arm, Orson's cape wrapped around him, and the thought of the Grand Moff in his mind. 

Orson thinks, hours after Galen's snoring on his shoulder, that he'll visit the Grand Moff again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fancyfrenchie, again, gets half the credit and half the blame for the flashbacks. But, she has all my thanks, so, thank you! <3


End file.
